ManSlayer 13 Vision's Void Part 2 of 2
by BlueJuvenal
Summary: James and Morgan deal with a betrayal and something more. .sinister.  All characters are original, with concepts by J. K. Rowling.


**Thursday, February 9th 7:12 AM**

Two healers stood at attention as Ferdinand passed them. He didn't understand why they did so. They were not under his command. They were in their own hospital, for Christ's sake. He found it hard to believe he made such an imposing impression, even with his golden insignia and large Wizarding beard. The healers' physical show of respect created a flickering awkwardness; Ferdinand wasn't sure how to properly put them at ease. His wife, Truda, had always told him to treat with professional dignity those who showed him obeisance. He considered her advice sound after the first hundred instances of adhering to it, but after the first thousand, he concluded she was a damn fool.

Ferdinand pushed the door at the end of the hall open and walked into the sickroom. Propped on the bed before him, with her Muggle-cousin by her side, was Morgan Westerling, one of his best and favorite Aurors. Ferdinand had heard the news, and knew that both she and James were almost killed on assignment. He was grateful they survived, but oddly more grateful that Morgan's face did not retain any scarring. Admittedly, he was saddened by her cropped hair. She appeared less mystical and more pragmatic, like a Muggle physicist or coroner. He disliked her prone posture; it was abnormal, almost unnatural, like a hawk without its feathers. He put his hands behind his back.

"Captain Westerling, Agent McBride. It's good to see you both alive." Ferdinand's statement was absurd to the point he cracked a smile. Morgan and James smiled back at him.

"Thank you, sir. We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us like this." Morgan replied.

James stood up and offered Ferdinand his chair.

"No, James, please, sit back down." Ferdinand looked around the stone-walled room. "How did you enjoy your first stay in a Wizarding hospital?"

James folded his arms across his chest. "The food's decent, but there are too many candles and not enough televisions."

Ferdinand guessed the Muggle was jesting, even though his eyes appeared serious and heavy. Ferdinand nodded. He looked at Morgan; her face would be his safe haven if James' became too unreadable.

"What can you tell me, Morgan?"

"What I can tell you, Chief, is going to sound a little far-fetched." Morgan looked at James. "Terry Deegan's remains may not belong to him."

Ferdinand raised his eyebrows. "Please elaborate."

Morgan paused. "It was his eye, sir. I examined it. There was nothing behind it."

Ferdinand opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, James spoke.

"It wasn't a real eye. Whatever that was at the hospital that blew up, it wasn't Terry Deegan."

Ferdinand weighed James' words. "So you were sabotaged?"

"Yes, sir." Morgan responded. "Our target penetrated the hospital, removed Deegan, and in his stead placed a magically constructed decoy. In addition to the explosive, a psychic scrambler was activated, designed to render us senseless so we wouldn't have the chance to escape the blast."

"Fortunately, our perp did not account for our protective rings, which shielded us and allowed us to survive." James finished.

Ferdinand stroked his beard. "Have you identified the target?"

Morgan swallowed. "Yes, we believe so, sir." She answered gravely.

**7:13 AM**

Richard rested his face on his hand and stared at the recorder in front of him. It was polished, and had a good length. He almost regretted the fact no musician would ever be able to properly play it.

The calculations in his head suddenly lost their cohesion; he couldn't tell which equations went with what numbers, what numbers had what meaning. He sighed and removed his scholar's cap. He told himself he would immediately replenish its magical energy, which would allow the electricity from his body's chemical reactions to evenly and continuously stream into his neurons, thereby stabilizing his brain waves. He looked down at his lap and felt his resolve disintegrate. He found joy in the quality of inaction. The concept of eternity became more defined for him, more focused, an eternity where he wouldn't exist. Simply being had evolved into a rewarding state, but so did the state of no longer mulling over the meaning of his being. He was proud of his detachment, and found it ironic that he was so. He snickered to himself and decided to remain still, at least for another moment.

The basement door at the top of the stairs opened. Richard had told Braith not to disturb him for the remainder of the morning, but he was gladdened by her intrusion. Picking apart the math of quantum physics with a magically enhanced mind was a lonely ordeal. He felt as if he were shouting at the top of his lungs in the middle of a silent snowstorm. Richard discovered within the first few minutes of his lucubration that he severely disliked the sound of the voice in his head. He smiled at the notion of tuning out the sound of own conscious, like a student paying attention in potions class to escape his own tiresome daydreaming.

Braith descended the stairs with her house robes trailing behind her. His wife possessed an enjoyable aura of elegance; she brightened up the dingy, musty basement just by walking down into it. Despite her age, Braith maintained her poise, which counter-balanced her dispelled youth. Richard kidded himself he took the durability of her charm into consideration when he courted her, but he knew he originally was drawn to her beauty, just as so many others were. He remembered the enraged face of her father when he discovered she had eloped with him and would no longer be available to other, more blood-worthy wizards. Richard had pleaded with him, promising to always do justice to his daughter's stately grace, but he failed to vanquish his father-in-law's spite. The man for the rest of his life never spoke another word to Richard, but Richard stayed true to his promise anyway.

"It's looking lovely, dear." Braith complimented him after seeing the recorder.

Richard hummed approvingly. He was pleased by her praise, even if he disagreed with it. He did not feel unworthy of his wife, and yet he always avoided arguing with her; he did not want to feel the barbs of her haughtiness. Even more so, he did not want to discover the barbs existed at all. "It should be done before the spring. Even with the cap on, I'm having trouble keeping track of all the variables."

Braith placed her hand on his round shoulder. "Why don't you get some rest."

"I might just do that." Richard stood up and grunted with the effort. "Walt said he would stop by later."

"That's nice of him. Wasn't it funny seeing him at the hospital yesterday?" Braith asked leadingly.

Richard understood his wife never completely took to Walter, his long-time friend from the institute. It was interesting that she didn't, considering how similarly they comported themselves. Perhaps Braith savored her queenly role and didn't want it encroached upon, or maybe she felt Walter acted _too_ aristocratically. Richard, for his part, did not take Walter's demeanor seriously, which maybe was the reason he found his company so remarkably tolerable.

"It was funny, I agree." Richard concurred.

The doorbell buzzed above.

**7:17 AM**

"May I borrow your wand, sir? Mine's being withheld." Morgan asked embarrassingly. James smiled; as tough and seasoned as his cousin was, he observed now and then flashes of her girlhood. He recalled a time when she had her wand taken away by her parents when she was a teenager, after she cursed a rude and forward boy at school. Her helplessness now was the same then.

Chief Glover handed her his brass-handled wand. She glanced at James and flicked the wand above her shoulder; a transparent, revolving bust of a man appeared. Glover folded his arms across his chest.

"Your target, I presume?"

Morgan nodded. "He is the one responsible for equipping the Deegans with their counterfeiting press."

Ferdinand lowered his gray brow. "You have evidence to support this?"

"What we have, sir, is a hunch, but a hunch that should be followed up on. Immediately."

James waited as Glover kneaded something in his head. The candle flame on the bedside table shivered.

"What's his name?"

Morgan lowered her chief's wand, and James cleared his throat.

"His name is Walter Limehouse."

**7:15 AM**

"Who would be calling this early? It couldn't be Walter already, could it?" Braith asked Richard after the doorbell ceased buzzing. She turned from her husband and braced the support bar mounted above the stairs. Carefully and deliberately, she placed one foot in front of the other, propelling herself up each step, cautious not to trip on her robes. She remembered a conversation she had with her mother when she was a girl, where she claimed she would never adopt witch house robes when she obtained her own home. She would allow her legs to roam free and undraped over all she possessed, uninhibited, uncaring of the affronted stares and gasps of guest wizards. At some point after she achieved womanhood, this notion fell from her mind unnoticed, like a twig from a broom. Along with so many of her idea, she didn't realize it was gone until after she had settled into a comfortable position and procured the leisure of reflection. She spent so much of her time consciously shaping the person she most desired to be, she was startled to know so much of her self-definition was constructed from what she had lost and not from what she supposedly had gained.

Braith reached the top of the stairs, and noticed the cobwebs gilding the potion bottles on the wall shelf. Morgan had brewed most of them over the course of her Aurorship. They were given as gifts, for recreational use, but Braith knew her daughter also wished to protect and aid her parents through her acquired skill. One dusty bottle had been untouched for over ten years; Braith had forgotten its properties. Another was given to her and Richard that would grant twenty-four hours of tranquil thinking. Yet another was an aphrodisiac, given as a gag by Morgan and Confessor on Braith and Richard's thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. Braith recalled Richard, after his fifth glass of wine, bellowing to the table he was an expert distiller of such magical liquids. Braith, along with the others, had laughed, even though the humor of the comment was contrived, indecent, and above all false. Richard had a habit of pretending to be someone else when around groups of people. Braith still found the trait bothersome, like a recurring muscle spasm. When their anniversary dinner concluded, she placed the love potion on the shelf and the two of them promptly forgot about it.

Slowly she made her way through the dining hall, past the study, into living room. She saw that the coffee table was dusty again, three days after being wiped with her wand. Braith sighed and imagined what it would be like to have a house elf scurrying about the house, receiving her orders with deferential bows and nods, carrying out her commands swiftly and without comment. Her grandmother used to boast about the elves she owned. When Braith was a young girl, she once gave instructions on how to maintain them.

"As for your grandfather and I, we play each one off the other, making their chores a competition. Through decent treatment, we ensure their loyalty, which of course motivates them to be first in our favor." She had stated smugly. The woman had talked as if she still owned elves, when in fact they were reluctantly freed from her service several decades before. Braith comforted herself with the thought that if she and Richard had been in a position to own elves, they would treat them kindly and definitely would not instill rivalries amongst them. Of course, it was a facile statement to make, when one was not in possession of raw power. Braith shook her head and considered suddenly how so many detours presented themselves on life's path, it was impossible for chance not to influence how people were crafted.

She reached the front door and opened it. Standing in front of her was indeed Walter. He surprisingly did not make her a bow, nor did he offer his wide smile. He nodded quickly and awkwardly. He spoke as if there were an ogre charging him from behind.

"Braith, dear, good morning. I hope you don't terribly mind me intruding?"

Braith stood aside formally and allowed Richard's friend to enter the house.

"Of course not, Walter. You're always welcome."

**7:19 AM**

Morgan maintained her focus on Ferdinand; she hoped it would not take long to explain the situation to him. He looked at her lying in the hospital bed.

"Tell me about him."

Morgan lowered her head, but not her newly-formed eyes. "Uncle. ." Morgan bit her lip. "Limehouse is a product manager at the Hermes Institute, semi-retired, and a life-long bachelor. He does not have a prior criminal record."

"The Hermes Institute." Ferdinand paused and thought. "The Wizarding think tank in Baltimore." He paused again and rubbed his forehead. "Jesus Christ."

"Yes, sir. My father has known him for years. I grew up with him around the house. He has helped my father market many of his inventions. He could of helped construct and off-load many magically enhanced instruments, including a counterfeiting press."

"What else?"

James continued. "He arrived yesterday afternoon to wish Morgan well. It is unlikely he could have known about her accident, unless he talked to Morgan's family. He didn't, we checked. He probably showed up to finish us off, but ran into Richard, Braith, and Circe in the lobby."

"So you believe Limehouse has betrayed the Institute and sold his inventions to criminal buyers?"

"Yes, sir." Morgan stated.

Ferdinand stepped towards Morgan with his hand out. She gave him back his wand.

"It's a little flimsy, sir, but James and I should at least investigate the Institute."

Ferdinand replaced his wand within his robes. "Agreed. Head out as soon as you both are able. Report to me when you have found something."

Ferdinand curtly bowed to the cousins and left the sickroom. Morgan looked at James; he was impatiently tapping his fingers against the table. Morgan swung her legs off the bed and stretched.

"Be honest: Does my hair look terrible?"

James rolled his eyes. "Are you ready to break out of here, or what?"

"I am." Morgan glanced towards the door. There were secrets beyond it, secrets she did not necessarily want to uncover. Their shed light might turn the eyes of her family to ash.

**7:20 AM**

Richard stood at the bottom of the stairs. Descending briskly towards him was Walter. Richard stepped back, surprised; he had never known Walter to do anything briskly.

"What's happened?" Richard asked with concern.

Walter reached the bottom, and sighed affectedly. "Nothing, friend, nothing at all. I just figured I'd stop by early and listen to the music." Walter gestured at the table with the recorder on it. "How goes it?"

Richard turned his back on Walter and looked at the instrument. Suddenly, his muscles turned to ice. He attempted to twist his neck, but was unable to do so. Oddly, he could still move his mouth.

"What the. ."

"Please, Richard, do not bother screaming. Your wife is incapacitated at the moment, and will not be able to assist you."

A bitter claw of fear gripped Richard's chest. "Walter, what are you doing?"

"Rest assured, I do not wish to harm you or Braith." Walter paused. Richard listened to his robes swish. "I need to disappear, perhaps for a long time. Your recorder may help me do that."

"What have you done with Braith? Dammit, Walt. ."

"Silence, Richard!" There was a crack, and Richard found his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. When Walter next spoke, it was very close to Richard's ear.

"Now when I release your tongue, I only want you to answer my questions. Otherwise, I will injure your wife."

Richard wanted to swallow the sickening lump in his throat, but Walter's curse prevented him. Everything in his mind was blurry, except for the desire not to see Braith hurt. Walter walked in front of Richard's face. Despite his smooth language, his features were discomposed, and his wand was shaking in his hand. Walter obviously enjoyed his predicament even less than Richard did.

"Your recorder, if I am correct, is a dark matter quantum extractor, yes? Please nod."

Richard shook his head stiffly up and down. Walter appeared slightly relieved.

"And dark matter, being a repellant of electromagnetic waves, is invisible, yes?" Walter flicked his wand, and Richard's tongue fell between his teeth. Richard looked at Walter in disbelief.

"Yes, but. ."

"Then I would like you to adjust it to allow for its holder to become transparent."

Richard gaped at Walter. "It doesn't work like that! The matter extraction is incredibly unstable and has to be contained! You can't just use it to become invisible! I'm not even done with the modifications yet!"

Another loud crack reverberated off the concrete walls of the basement. Richard screamed and toppled over. Walter's breathing became weighted.

"You will find a way, Richard. You are my friend, and I have confidence in those with whom I entrust my friendship."

**7:44 AM**

James held the door to the office tower open for Morgan.

"Hopefully security won't give us any problems." He commented.

"If they do, I'll deal with it." Morgan responded briefly. James listened to the clacking of Morgan's heels, and looked at her short, red hair and dark Muggle suit. He was reminded of his mother.

"So it's been, what, ten years since you've been here?" James asked.

Morgan slowed her pace across the lobby, where many business men and women were bustling about. "About that."

The two cousins entered the elevator at the end of the lobby. Once the doors closed behind them, Morgan drew her wand from her overcoat pocket, and tapped it against a vacant space above the button for the fortieth floor. An image of a star-topped, golden wand glowed magically on the metal plate, and the elevator ascended. James kept his eyes straight ahead.

"Tell me what you're feeling."

Morgan exhaled and looked down at her boots. "I'm unsettled, James. Walter has been a friend of the family for as long as I've been around. He used to give me sweets when I was a girl. As you can imagine, this investigation doesn't feel right."

James thought of the times Morgan talked with Walter. He remembered him as always seeming to be too close to his face. "You found him weird."

Morgan nodded. "It's true, but I've gotten used to his presence over the years."

James laughed shortly. "You know, I'm so used to these places being underground, it feels strange going up."

The elevator stopped, and a charming, male voice issued from the surrounding air.

"Welcome to the Hermes Institute, where the Wizarding world of tomorrow is created today. Please draw your wands for identification."

The door opened, and James followed Morgan into a small, black-walled anteroom where a security wizard was sitting behind a desk. He stared at Morgan and James as they approached. James looked up at the large, hovering, lighting orb, and remembered a time when a nine-year-old Morgan tried to jump up and grab it.

"Hello, folks. Wands?" The wizard asked. Morgan presented her jeweled Auror badge, and after identifying herself, walked with James into an electrically-illuminated hallway. James became unnerved at the utter silence of the corridor. He drew his Glock and removed the safety cap.

"This place looks so normal, it's kind of creepy."

"As you are well aware, looks are misguiding." Morgan replied softly.

They stopped at a metal door at the end of the corridor. Morgan gestured for James to step back. When he did so, she waved her wand at the door, magically checking for traps. After a minute, she turned towards her cousin.

"It's clear."

James raised his eyebrow. "I didn't expect that. Not after what we've been through."

Morgan pondered something, and then tapped her wand against the doorknob. There was a light click, and the door swung inward. James raised his Glock as Morgan stepped into the office.

James squinted against the daylight from the large-paneled windows on the far wall; Walter, while he fiddled away at his contraptions, had a fantastic view of the harbor when he wanted it. In the middle of the room was a work station covered with papers and an inactive laptop computer. Morgan stepped forward with her wand raised, and wrinkled her nose. James didn't understand what she was reacting to until he followed her inside.

James smelled something horrible. He darted his Glock from side to side. Morgan flicked her wand before her.

"There's no one here." She glanced at James. "At least no one alive."

James stepped in front of Morgan, pivoted to the left, and gasped.

"My God. ."

Morgan swung around and hissed. On the wall, surrounded by cluttered shelves, was a large, rectangular, vertical tablet. It was over six feet tall, padded with leather, and mounted with two, circular rings on either side. Through each ring, dangling lifelessly and unattached, was a human arm.

James looked down past the mangled limbs at the two dried pools of blood. He cautiously advanced towards the tablet.

"Let's try not to touch anything."

Morgan came up next to James and analyzed the arms.

"They're male, and look to not yet be middle-aged. They weren't cut; his body was ripped from them." Morgan's eyes widened. "Do you see it?"

James did; on the left arm, just below the wrist, was a small tattoo. It was a picture of a woman in tight, denim shorts bending over a Dodge Charger. The hood of the Charger was crossed with stars. James rubbed his mouth.

"Deegan?"

Morgan shook her head. "Probably, but I won't reach that conclusion just yet, not after the last time." She spun around and scanned the work station. James followed her eyes. He noticed that the contents of the station were disorganized. Morgan walked over to the opposite wall and examined the shelves crammed with potions, textbooks, hard drives, and assorted, unidentifiable gadgets. James glanced out the window.

"At least we know your hunch was right."

Morgan turned around. Her expression was mirthless.

"We know more than that. There are no traps here, the door was easily accessed, the equipment is disheveled, and a crime scene has been left in the open." She tilted her head at the tiled ceiling. "He has no intention of coming back." She paused and stared at James with alarmed eyes. "He's on the run."

James thought of something, and his heart quickened. "Your parents were the last ones with him, as far as we. ." James stopped talking as Morgan rushed towards the door. He ran after her, and hoped, when she Disapparated, that she at least remembered to grab him.

**7:58 AM**

"Tell me of your progress."

Richard pulled his wand away from the recorder and huffed. The sound of Walter's voice was the same it had always been. He might have just asked Richard to spot him a Galleon, or look into a deal on software. Richard had to remind himself of his new, deadly circumstances.

He had nothing to tell Walter; what he was asking was impossible to accomplish. Richard felt as if he were delaying an inevitable heart attack. Maybe Walter was Imperiused. Richard hoped very much Walter was, no matter what came of his situation. Otherwise, Richard's mind might never unknot itself.

"Walter, why are you doing this?"

A white-hot knife slit the skin of Richard's back. He cried out and gripped the edge of the table.

"Please do not respond to my command with a question of dubious relevance. You have been at it for over a half-hour, and I do not have much more time." Walter paused and took a deep breath. "Are you currently wearing any sort of counter-measure?"

Richard caught himself before he could exclaim appallingly. He steadied himself. "No."

An instant later the tight cords in his brain dissolved, and his thoughts congealed into a malleable syrup. His psyche was a moist cake of mud, waiting for Walter to step in it.

"Tell me your progress, Richard." Walter's voice was mesmerizing, penetrating, irresistible. Richard opened his mouth mechanically.

"I make no progress."

Walter became louder. "Tell me why not."

"The instrument is incomplete. I need a Hinge."

"What do you mean?"

"The recorder has the capability to form a sub-atomic wormhole, which can be positioned in space to extract dark matter. However, the magic needed to stabilize such a wormhole is massive, and requires a highly enchanted, highly self-sufficient, power source, a magical font. I call it a Hinge."

"Where can we find a Hinge?"

Richard swallowed. Somewhere inside his body, he kicked at his brain, murderously trying to snap it awake. His efforts were futile. "We can find one in the house."

Walter was losing his patience. "Where in the house, you lout?"

Richard screamed, but his own flesh prevented him from being heard. "Inside Braith."

"Inside. .? Richard, if you are playing games with me, I will draw every drop of your wife's blood and gorge your stomach with it! How can a Hinge be inside her?"

Richard blinked. It was all he could manage to do while under Walter's Imperius curse. Guilt gnawed at him like a cluster of maggots, but he couldn't brush it off. He was helpless, and at last defeated.

"It is her soul we would need."

**8:01 AM**

The bones in Braith's arms ached, even more than they usually did. She was sitting in her living room arm chair, completely motionless. She had decided that Walter was ungentlemanly; if he was going to magically Body-Bind her, the least he could have done was position her comfortably. Braith took pleasure in his crime, since it confirmed her persistent and inherent dislike of him. Her husband always had such enthusiasm for working at Hermes. He always talked about how the hybrids he developed helped protect witches and wizards from the onslaught of Muggle technology. Walter was the type of man who would never make such statements. Braith imagined him sitting in a small office, reviewing supply orders and component inventories, never actually having a say in what was created, never actually creating. Walter had stymied her with magic, but Braith had vanquished him with her observations.

There was a creaking noise by the basement stairs. Walter appeared on the landing by the kitchen, his robes stretched tight over his bulging waist, his wand clenched tightly in his fist. Braith noticed his face was redder than usual. She was glad he was suffering, and she hoped he continued to do so.

With laboring breath, he walked behind Braith and leaned into her from behind the chair. His odor was pungent and disgraceful.

"I take it, Braith, you are uncomfortable. I am sorry for it." He began pacing back and forth behind the chair. "Richard has been extraordinary. He has shown me the way to get what I want. I'm not sure how much time I have, so I will tell you briefly that we have to remove your soul from your body. Of course, this regrettably means you will have to die. I will not free your tongue, as I can guess you would have nothing pleasant to convey to me in a valediction. However, please note before you pass that I did not enter your home with the intention of murdering you, but did all in my power to avoid loss of life." He walked in front of Braith and pointed his wand at her face. "Again, my apologies. Good-bye."

Braith listened to his last words with her ears, and saw with her frozen eyes a black boulder fly at the bay windows. The glass shattered, and something large stood atop the fragments. Walter howled in fright and turned towards the explosion. He raised his wand-arm, and after it was lifted, it fell off his body. Braith watched as he bellowed and fell to his knees. He was in the middle of shouting out his panic and pain, when a dark-gray scythe darted forward and promptly decapitated him. His head landed with a thud on the wooden floor, but his body crumpled lightly and gracefully, like an actress on stage swooning from a shocking scene.

Braith moved her eyes away from Walter's mauled frame. Time was moving so fast, her mind didn't have a chance to process her fear. She looked at the black boulder standing in the living room. Oddly, it was man-shaped, and was wearing corduroy pants. There was no shirt. Its pectoral muscles were over-developed to the point they could have been mistaken for a woman's breasts. There was something wrong with its arms, and Braith realized they weren't arms at all; they were dragon wings. It turned and faced her paralyzed body. Instead of a nose and mouth, it had a fleshy, fanged snout, but that's not what finally made Braith scream in horror. It was when she looked into its eyes and saw two blood-filled orbs of demonic energy. His shape could have been something doodled by a disturbed child, but his eyes were original and terrifyingly inhuman. Braith raised her hands to cover her twisted, vibrating mouth, and then she fell over.

**8:09 AM**

Morgan spun into being on the sidewalk, and after releasing James, she whipped her wand around in a circle, scanning for hostiles. The neighborhood seemed quiet and normal. A resident down the street was getting into his car, preparing for his morning commute. Perhaps her parents were safe inside their home. Walter might never be tracked down, but at least Mom and Dad would be safe. Morgan attempted to convince herself she could be satisfied with this outcome. A biting wind stung her cheeks, and she took a deep breath. She pointed her wand at her parents' small bungalow and carefully advanced towards the front door.

"James, you have my back?"

"Yes I do." James answered rhythmically and immediately. Morgan stood before the screen door and glided her wand in front of it. After a second, the door glowed red. Morgan stepped back. It was possible her parents erected the wards to keep out intruders. It was also possible Walter had infiltrated the house and constructed the shield to keep her and James out. She growled to herself.

"Go around to the back and wait for the shell to drop. We'll meet in the living room."

James trotted around the side of the house with his Glock raised, and Morgan went to work on the barrier to the entrance. As she cast her counter-hexes and penetration curses, she remembered the way Walter used to laugh in the house when he visited. He and Dad always appeared so at ease with each other. Did Dad ever suspect the man? Once he knew of Walter's foulness, how would he look upon his memories with him? She became angry and slashed at the house with haste. People had a terrible habit of becoming deluded in life, to the point where every treasure seemed a troll, and every troll was an incomparable friend.

Before Morgan could complete her spells, James shouted out.

"Morgan! Here!"

Morgan ran around the house and saw James standing in front of her parents' large, bay windows. They were completely destroyed, as if a refrigerator had been thrown through them. Morgan winced.

"Shit! James, take my hand!" Morgan cut the air with her wand, flattening the glass shards projecting from the window, and after James grabbed her free arm, she magically propelled herself and her cousin through the cavity into the bungalow.

Morgan landed on scattered, broken glass and swept the room with her eyes. James stood next to her.

"How could there be a breach if the house is warded?" He asked. Morgan did not answer him. She took in the feet sticking out from behind the armchair. Her mother's violet slippers were on them.

"No!"

Morgan raced around the chair, and found her mother lying on the floor. She was breathing heavily, but she didn't appear to be harmed. She was staring straight ahead.

"I'll find your Dad." James stated as he ran out of the living room. Morgan's hand was steady as she pointed her wand at her mother, but something lumpy was making its way into her face while she worked her restorative magic. Her mother was kind and elegant, but also noble, proud, and fierce; who could have the power to terrorize her thus?

"Mom, it's me. Can you hear me?" Morgan inquired gently. Braith finally blinked and looked at her daughter.

"Morgan!" She quivered and swallowed. "Your father! Where is he?"

"I don't know. Just lie still for a moment and tell me what happened."

Before Braith could comply, James, with Richard on his arm, walked back into the living room. Morgan examined her father; he was ghostly white and trembling, but otherwise, like Braith, did not appear to be hurt. Morgan saw him step in something clear and slimy on the floor. He stumbled forward and fell at Braith's legs.

"Darling! Are you okay? Morgan, will she be okay?"

"I don't know. We're all going back to the hospital, but first I need to know what happened."

"It was Walter!" Richard cried. "He kidnapped us! He said he was going to kill Braith! Oh, thank heavens you're alive! Where is he?"

"He is dead." Braith informed the group baldly. Morgan's blood became cold. James squatted down next to his aunt.

"Dead."

Braith nodded and sat up. "He was taken by. . something."

"What are you talking about, sweetheart?" Richard asked. Morgan stood up.

"James, let's check the house for. ."

"You won't find him. He flew away with the body." Braith piercingly gazed at Morgan. "He flew back to Hell."

Morgan looked at her mother blankly. "I'll tell you what, James and I will do a quick sweep of the house, I'll summon an Auror team, and then we'll all head to the hospital."

Braith shook her head at her daughter's words. Morgan had never seen her mother so shaken, so disrupted. Braith grabbed her hand. "He flew away with the body, but first. ." Braith shivered. "He licked the floor. He licked up the blood."

Morgan glanced at James. He glanced back at her with a look of almost humorous disbelief. She thought of the dangling arms in Walter's office, above the brown, spattered blood. They were severed, cast off, and dead. The body was ripped from them. Something metallic burbled in her stomach; could the body have ripped _itself_ away?

**12:12 PM**

James stood up when Morgan walked into the waiting room. He folded his arms against his chest and examined his cousin's face. She appeared grim, but her gait was brisk.

"They're in recovery, and should be released by the end of the day." Morgan looked past James at a healer jogging down the hallway. "I examined her mind, and . ." Morgan lowered her head and rubbed her temple.

"Deegan?" James asked.

Morgan nodded. "Walter's wand isn't giving us much. Whatever he did to him, he did with another instrument."

James shuffled his feet. This was only his second visit to the hospital, and already he hated the place. "So what are we dealing with?"

"We are dealing with a monster, James. He is intelligent and has memory retention. Otherwise, he would have killed Mom. He is impervious to magic, as far as we can tell. His wings are razor-sharp and grant him flight capabilities."

"I'm not impressed yet."

"There may be something else." Morgan swallowed and stared at James. "It's possible he has some kind of honing mechanism, which allows him to quickly locate his victims. James. ."

"He won't get me."

"He'll remember you, from the raid." Morgan broke eye contact. "I'm going to assign a security team to you and Jaime. ."

"Morgan." James said loudly. The air around him became dense and slightly unpalatable. "No team. He won't get me."

"I know he won't, and a security squad will guarantee that."

"What good is a squad going to do if he is invulnerable to magic? Uncap my Glock. If I feel so much as a flutter of wings I'll blow six holes in him."

Morgan put her hands on her hips. "Okay. I'll remove the peace-bind from your weapon, but. ." Morgan held up her hand as James tried to interrupt her. "I want you and Jaime to stay with us for the next couple days. Just until we get a better grasp of the situation."

James turned away from Morgan and shook his head. He felt like someone in an unknown corner was shining a flashlight on him. An image of Jaime laughing rushed through his brain, followed by an image of her being snatched away by unseemly claws.

"He won't get me." James turned back and faced Morgan. She was still staring at him worriedly. James ignored her eyes. "I'll get him first."

Morgan stood still for a second, and then nodded resignedly. Together they headed towards the hospital exit.


End file.
